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CHAPTER 5
It wasn’t exactly a whirlwind courtship, but once it got started, it moved along pretty fast.
Count Malatesta sent flowers to Denny at the hotel the next day, and the day after that, but he didn’t come to call until the third day. Denny had considered suggesting to Louis that they go ahead and leave Venice, but she found herself strangely unwilling to do so.
Her reluctance to go couldn’t have anything to do with the way Giovanni Malatesta was attempting to woo her so determinedly, she told herself. It was just that Venice was such a beautiful city, and she and Louis hadn’t yet seen everything there was to see. That was why they couldn’t leave yet.
She knew Louis would have scoffed at that reasoning—and in the back of her mind, she did, too.
When Malatesta showed up at the hotel and asked her to go with him to the Piazza San Marco and St. Mark’s Basilica, Denny couldn’t come up with a good reason to refuse the invitation, especially after Malatesta asked Louis to come along, too. That proved the Italian nobleman didn’t have any improper intentions, or if he did, he was being sly about them.
“I don’t need a chaperone,” Denny said to her brother as they were getting ready to leave the hotel. Malatesta had gone back downstairs after telling them he would meet them in the lobby.
“Good, because I wouldn’t amount to much as one, even if there was any trouble,” Louis said.
Denny looked over at him. Louis wasn’t frail, exactly, but he wasn’t the picture of health, either. He had been born with a flaw in his heart that often left him pale, weak, and struggling for breath. In times of trouble, Denny was more likely to be the one taking the bull by its proverbial horns.
She hated that he thought less of himself because of his condition. It was no fault of his own, and as far as she was concerned, no girl had ever had a better brother.
She put her arms around him, hugged him, and said, “Don’t you ever think anything like that. You don’t know how much I depend on you, Louis.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said with a rueful smile. “I just hope I don’t ever let you down.”
“You won’t,” she assured him.
They went downstairs, where Malatesta greeted them in his jovial, booming voice as if they were old friends he hadn’t seen for years, instead of having left them at the door of their hotel room less than a quarter of an hour earlier. He ushered them toward the entrance doors of the vast, elaborately furnished lobby with its golden mosaics, jeweled tapestries, and gleaming marble floor.
The Hotel Metropole was a square, four-story building with its name emblazed on a large sign that ran across the front, above the entrance. Steps on the other side of the small plaza in front of it led down to the Grand Canal, where gondolas and other boats waited to carry passengers along the watery thoroughfares of this ancient city. To the left as Denny, Louis, and Giovanni Malatesta walked toward the Grand Canal was one of the many graceful arched bridges to be found in Venice, this one crossing a smaller canal that ran alongside the hotel.
Malatesta led the two Americans to a waiting gondola manned by a stocky, swarthy gondolier in the traditional outfit of tight white trousers, loose colorful shirt, and flat-crowned straw hat adorned by a small ribbon. The count took Denny’s hand and helped her step into the boat, then started to assist Louis as well, only to have him say, “Thanks, but I can manage.”
“Of course, my friend.” Malatesta boarded with the grace of a large cat and took Denny’s hand again as they sat on one of the sumptuously padded benches. Louis sat opposite them, facing backward.
The gondolier pushed off with the long pole that was the tool of his trade and sent the gondola gliding smoothly through the water. With expert skill, he guided the boat into the traffic on the Grand Canal.
“With all the bridges, it is possible to walk from the hotel to St. Mark’s,” Malatesta said as he leaned back against the cushioned seat, “but I did not know if the two of you had ridden in a gondola yet. It is an experience that every visitor to Venezia must have.”
“It just so happens that we’ve been to Venice before,” Denny said, “and this isn’t our first ride in a gondola. But it’s been a while, and it’s always a nice thing to do.”
Despite the waterways that made it distinctive, in many ways Venice was like most of the other cities in Europe: a striking blend of beauty and squalor, wealth and poverty, and an assault on the senses. Nearly everywhere a person looked were gracious old buildings that were works of art every bit as much as the treasures some of them housed. But underlying the stunning visions that met the eye was the perpetual stink of dead fish. It was impossible to eliminate in a city built on the water. The canals themselves were lovely from a distance, but up close, trash floated in them. No one ever mentioned that. It was as if everyone in Venice, citizens and visitors alike, had agreed to turn a blind eye to the unavoidably ugly parts of life that went on here as they did everywhere else.
The trip to the vast Piazza San Marco, with its busy shops and museums on three sides and the massive, magnificent edifice, St. Mark’s Basilica, at the far end, didn’t take long. Once they were there, Denny, Louis, and Malatesta joined the throngs of people strolling around the plaza, gazing at the wide variety of beautiful goods on display. They were in no hurry, and considering the crowds, it wouldn’t have done them much good if they had been. It took them more than an hour to reach the huge church, and they spent another hour inside, staring raptly at the statues and icons and tapestries and paintings, masterworks of art from all over Europe, some of them dating back hundreds of years.
Later, back out in the plaza, Denny sat on one of the benches to rest. Malatesta sat beside her while Louis wandered off to look at the wares in one of the shops.
Not far away, water bubbled in a fountain adorned by a statue of a naked cherub. Denny didn’t know if the statue was a work of art or just a decoration. She supposed it didn’t matter.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Malatesta asked.
“I am,” she admitted. “It’s getting a little warm, though.” She was grateful for the hat she had worn, with its broad, floppy brim. The shade it provided for her face was welcome.
“We can go back to the hotel soon,” Malatesta told her. “You will want to rest before I take you to supper tonight.”
Denny laughed. “Who said I was going to have supper with you?”
“But you must eat at the Café Top Rosso Elegante.” Malatesta kissed his fingertips and then blew that kiss off them. “The best food in all of Venice. You cannot pass up the chance to dine there.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that place.”
Malatesta waved away her comment. “The ones who actually live in a city always know the best places to eat there. The café is, how you say it, off the beaten path. But you will love it, I give you my word.”
“Is Louis invited to dinner as well?”
Malatesta smiled slightly. “No offense to your wonderful brother, but it was my fondest hope that perhaps this evening, the two of us could spend some time alone together, cara mia.”
“Isn’t
